


Of Shoelaces and Snogging

by SG1SamFan (LemonScience33)



Series: SG1SamFan's Sherlock Vignettes Collection [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Love, M/M, Snogging, Vignette, not-cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonScience33/pseuds/SG1SamFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock seems to be having a bit of a difficult time breathing under John’s weight, but John doesn’t move because it’s Sherlock’s own damn fault that John’s been up since yesterday morning.</p><p>That said, John turns his face into Sherlock’s cheek, his nose mashing into the dip below that disgustingly pretty cheekbone. He sighs. “Remind me to bring an extra pair of shoelaces next time.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Shoelaces and Snogging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loyalnerdwp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalnerdwp/gifts).



> Dashed off and edited in about an hour based on [this prompt](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/40997019601/we-dont-ever-really-see-fanfic-of-sherlock-and) on Tumblr. :) Unbeta-ed and not Brit-picked. (Also, I put John on top because that was just how I saw it in my head. Hope that's okay, love!)

This isn’t cuddling. That would imply something soft and… spoony.

It also isn’t sex, because Sherlock hasn’t slept in three days and they are both full of Thai food, and as much as John likes sex with Sherlock, John has reached the threshold at which he’d really rather sleep than have an orgasm.

Rather, Sherlock is on the couch, and John is a dead weight atop him.

Sherlock seems to be having a bit of a difficult time breathing under John’s weight, but John doesn’t move because it’s Sherlock’s own damn fault that John’s been up since yesterday morning.

That said, John turns his face into Sherlock’s cheek, his nose mashing into the curve below that disgustingly pretty cheekbone. He sighs. “Remind me to bring an extra pair of shoelaces next time.”

“All right,” Sherlock rumbles noncommitally.

“You’re not going to, are you,” John says flatly.

“I can’t imagine my needing more than the two pairs you usually wear.”

Sherlock’s right arm and John’s left are fighting for space in the crack of the couch, a situation which is tingly in the pins-and-needles way rather than the blood-flowing-to-the-groin way.  Sherlock’s other arm comes up to play with John’s jumper, and John sighs again.

“You’re a git,” John murmurs.

Sherlock turns his head toward John, and John’s face slides off Sherlock’s cheek and falls forward into the humid and oxygenless hollow between Sherlock’s head and the back of the couch. “Mmmph,” he grunts in annoyance.

Sherlock pulls John’s head up by his hair and plunks John’s face atop his own. John’s eyes remain shut.

Sherlock kisses John’s bottom lip, picks John’s head up again and shifts slightly underneath him, and John lets their lips smudge together. It’s barely a kiss, just lips shifting and brushing. Sherlock rubs the back of John’s neck and grins tiredly, and John’s drops a gentle kiss onto Sherlock’s teeth.

“Come to bed, John.”

“Mmmph,” John grunts again, so Sherlock rolls him off onto the floor.

John sits up and scowls.

His bedroom is upstairs, so they end up both collapsing in Sherlock’s bed atop the covers, clumps of red mud falling from their clothing onto the comforter. Sherlock hooks his little finger around John’s, and John smiles despite himself as he collapses into sleep.


End file.
